You've Got Mail
by Inks Inc
Summary: Can true love overcome the most final of tragedies? Completed One-Shot.


(Warning: Character death)

September tenth.

That's the date I came into this world, twenty-five years ago.

You know, I had plans for how every single birthday in my twenties would go. Thirteen-year-old me had everything mapped out, everything prearranged. But the snag is, thirteen-year-old me was wrong, thirteen-year-old-me was very wrong indeed. Then again, thirteen-year-old-me was working with the reasonably predictable future of Anastasia Rose Steele. Christian Trevelyan-Grey, or his ilk, did _not_ feature into the life plan.

But he did.

He did feature.

He was, in fact, the sole feature of my very existence.

But then, he died. Not from a helicopter accident or anything befitting his hard-earned grandeur. No, nothing like that. Gioblasta Multiforme, or GBM. It's a brain tumour, the most aggressive and malignant known to man. Even with the best doctors that money could buy and the most cutting-edge treatment plans, he only lived for thirteen months after his initial diagnosis, and devastating, prognosis. He withered away in front of me. Faded, like a dream. Trickled away like water in cupped hands, no matter how desperately I clutched them tighter together.

He died days after my twenty-forth birthday.

This is the first remembrance of my birth that I've been without him since we met. And the pain is acute, it's boiling, it's all-consuming. It threatens to drown me, to tear me apart from the seams. But I made a promise, a promise I didn't want to make, a promise he begged of me. An unbreakable, irrevocable promise, given to him on his death bed. I've been tempted to break that promise every minute of every day since his eyes closed for the final time, since the last surge of life in his hands curled around mine. But I didn't, I haven't, I won't. Because this promise was his dying wish, his last request of me… how could I deny him?

I swore that I would not give in, that I would go on, that I would _live._

I'm not sure how much living I've been doing in the last year, I think the technical term is surviving. I shuffle and mumble my way through the days, I eat enough to sustain life and bathe often enough to stave off intervention of the authorities. But today, remarkably, is even harder than the days before it. I've never been one for birthdays, they're pretty tiresome if you ask me. But Christian… he loved to celebrate _my_ birthdays, not his own, and his love and enthusiasm was infectious. Even days before his death, he threw a surprise party for me in his hospital room.

But today, one year on, I am remarkably and irreversibly, alone.

And it's my choice.

Kate, my mom, Ray… they've all begged me to join them, but I've refused.

Vehemently.

I need to be alone today. I need this day to process, to mourn, to utterly solidify my existence. I can't do that with other people around me, not today, I can't paste the fake smile on my face today, I just cannot. My hands grip my scalding mug of Twining's breakfast tea as I stare out over the sunrise that blankets the Seattle skyline. I couldn't continue to live in our home after he was gone, and he knew that, organizing a penthouse for me, overlooking the places we once visited, the places we once lived.

Mrs Jones lives with me, now.

And I need her, I really need her. Not for creature comforts and not for domestic duties, I just need her. She reminds me of him, she keeps him closer than close. And I think, in a way, she needs me too. I think Mrs Jones loved Christian in a unique way, not a romantic or dramatic way, but in an almost matronly, motherly way. And not that he'd ever dream of admitting it, if he was even aware of it, but I think Christian shared a similar affection for her, too. She and Taylor. They were close to him, as close to him as anyone could be that didn't share his surname.

I did.

I shared his surname.

I still do.

I am Mrs Anastasia Grey and death cannot get in the way of that.

He is as much my husband today as he was the day we shared our vows.

He begged me to divorce him, so that I could be free to meet someone else and fall in love all over again. It was the only request I denied, without recourse. I will never feel for another the way I felt for him, feel for him. You get one soulmate in this life, one love of your life. They don't come around twice. Christian was that, for me. He was everything for me. And I agreed to keep my heart beating, keep my feet on the ground, but I didn't agree to sever myself from him.

I wouldn't.

I won't.

Traffic is starting to stir beneath me, a sleepy Seattle waking up to the aroma of coffee and success. The cars that crawl along have no idea what day it is, have no concept of the hole that has been left in the world. I think that's the reality I struggled to comprehend the most… that life… it went on. The world didn't stop spinning when Christian Grey took his last breath, mine did, but the world itself continued to orbit the sun even though mine had been cruelly, unfairly and swiftly snuffed out.

It was… incomprehensible.

It still is.

There's a knock at the door and I frown in confusion. It's pretty early for visitors, and I've made myself pretty clear… there were to _be_ no visitors, not today. I linger on my balcony, breathing in the morning, in the hopes that whoever it is will just go away. But they knock again and again, and again after that. I scowl and sweep from the balmy balcony and cross the apartment in irritation. Mrs Jones is off today, I didn't even want her around me, and yet… this infernal person with the hammering knock is slicing into my solitude.

I swing the door open and stare at the courier with displeasure.

"Yes?"

He looks nervous and I regret my sniping tone, but only a little.

"Mrs Anastasia Grey?"

I thaw a little and relish the sound of my married name, giving a little nod.

"Yes, that's me, what can I do for you?"

He extends a small brown package, accompanied by a clipboard and pen.

"Package for you. Please sign for delivery."

Instinctively, I reach for the clipboard and sign, accepting the small package with murmured thanks before shutting the door in the guys face. My name and address are in bold typeface on plain brown wrapping paper, no indication of who the sender might be. Back on the balcony, I mindlessly peel back the paper, not paying much attention to what I'm doing, not really caring about what could be in the box. My eyes are on the Seattle morning once more and my mind is full of thoughts and doubts about how I'm going to get through this day.

Without him.

A small black tape recorder falls into my hands. It's old fashioned, screaming of the nineties and it's pre-loaded with a cassette tape. I blink at it, confused. Who the hell would send me tape recorder? Who uses tape recorders in the twenty-first century? Checking the box, there's no note or explanation of any kind. Curling up on the chair that sits on the balcony, I wrap one hand around my warm mug and disinterestedly hit play on the tape recorder.

Music, piano music, fills the morning air.

I look down at the archaic device in surprise. I don't recognize the piece, but it's beautiful, in a melancholy sort of way. Its introduction is brief before it morphs into a bridge of urgent sadness, eventually petering off into a staccato that holds a hint of promise in its off beats. Silence emits from the small recorder for a moment, before the music is repealed and replaced by a singular musicality, a vocal musicality.

 _Happy Birthday, Anastasia…_

My mug falls to the floor, shattering into smithereens. A silent scream spills from my lips and a spluttering rhythm encases my heart. The tape recorder slips in my hand from a combination of shocked sweat and my springing to my feet, clutching the edge of the veranda to steady myself. Seattle is hidden from me as I'm blindfolded by disbelief.

 _I once told you that I exercised control in all things. And that was true when I said it. But you changed all that, you blew through all my bullshit. But old habits die hard and I've decided that the little matter of death isn't going to stand in the way of wishing my wife a happy twenty-fifth birthday. I can still control some things, I can still ensure that the most important things are protected. I know this year must have been hell for you. I imagine myself in your position and the pain is worse than any brain tumour, any malignancy. It takes my breath away, it paralyzes me. And even knowing that, I asked you to carry on, I begged you to carry on._

 _And you made me that promise._

 _So, here's my promise to you. On the tenth of September, every year, you are going to hear my voice again. No matter where in the world you are, arrangements have been made for a package similar to the one you're holding right now to find you. Anastasia… walk into your guestroom and have a look at what's on the bed. I'll wait…_

I stumble.

My heart is racing, my mind is whirring, and I'm sprinting.

The guestroom door bursts open and my chest implodes, lacerating with shrapnel of the deepest, purest love. _Charlie Tango._ The exact balloon I slept with under my pillow a lifetime ago back at the apartment with Kate. But this is a brand-new _Charlie Tango,_ and she's floating above the bed with a rectangular gift-wrapped box weighting down her string.

I hold my breath and stare.

His laugh, his dry chuckle, breaks what's left of my heart.

 _Breathe, Anastasia. Breathe and open the box…_

It's like he's here.

I fumble with the pristine wrapping paper but manage to tear it apart and pull the iPad from the silk lined box. It's already been turned on, it's resting in idle mode and I blink down at it with shock drenched uncertainty.

 _Unlock the screen and press play on the video thumbnail…_

With trembling fingers, I do as he bids, and watch with wide eyes as a video begins to play. A montage. A beautiful, beautiful collage of my favorite moments together. The photos I forced him into, all set to the backtrack of the piano music that spilled from the tape recording when I hit play. A golf ball sized lump forms in my throat as his face swims up at me, his breathtaking face…

Hot and salty tears scald my cheeks, flowing with impunity.

The video ends with a still shot of our wedding day, of our first dance. My hand is cupped around his cheek and he's staring adoringly down at me, his hands protectively around my hips, drawing me close. There are crowds of people around us, but we have eyes only for each other. I can smell the marquee from that day, I can hear the murmur of our friends and family, I can feel his warm chest pressed against mine…

A small sob tears from my throat and I slump on the bed, completely overwhelmed.

 _Charlie Tango_ flies above me, protecting me.

His voice, his perfectly timed voice, rings out once more.

 _That was our highlight reel, Anastasia. Those were some of the best moments of my life. Every best moment of my life was with you, was because of you. I hope one day you can look back on those moments and feel only happiness, not sadness. I hope one day you can look back on the life we shared and realize that our kind of love was only ever meant to have a short, but intense flame. Billions of people populate this world and only a fraction of them will experience the kind of love we shared. I am thankful for our time together, I know now that I was blessed, even in brevity._

 _You made every day a memory, Anastasia._

 _You made every day last a lifetime._

 _There will come a time when you will meet someone else, someone who makes your face light up and your eyes roll. This someone may come into your life by chance, this person may come into your life by choice. However they come, I beg you to give that someone a real chance, Anastasia. You are far too unique, far too beautiful, inside and out to spend your life with the mere memory of a man. We had our time, Anastasia. And it was the best time of my life, it was the only time in my life when I actually felt alive. You're a bright light in a dark world, Ana, and you deserve to shine with someone who earns and respects your glow._

 _In three-hundred-and-sixty-five days, you'll hear from me again._

 _You will never be alone on your birthday, Anastasia._

 _Until then…_

 _Laters, Baby…_

…..

A/N: I have a batch update of all my stories and several one-shots cooking, which should be up early in the New Year. I just decided to post this little one-shot because the plot bunny was stomping all over my brain.

I hope you all had a very merry Christmas and I want to say a massive thanks for all your support and feedback in 2017! I love you guys!


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